Breaking Bad Habits
by Lady Lestat
Summary: Potter and his groupies are staring at me in shock and I almost wish I had a camera. Okay so yeah, I’m wearing eyeliner and yeah my hair has a few blue streaks in it and even yeah, I pierced my eyebrow and, what’s this? Smoking a ciggie too? God lord…
1. Default Chapter

Disclaimer - Obviously JK Rowling owns Harry Potter and not me since she's the multi-millionaire. This story doesn't really have a plot, it's more a drabble of thoughts, gloomy depression and slight sadism. Enjoy anyway! 

It's all wrong. My life just seems to go from bad to worse, everything's falling apart around my ears. After everything that happened last year and the absolutely monster mess of the following month and a bit you would think someone would have the decency to let me off school! Hell…this train ride seems to be taking forever; the same grassy fields and hedges in an endless repeat of tangible gloominess.

I can dimly hear another brief pounding on the compartment door. I removed a small group of second year Hufflepuffs from this compartment of the Hogwarts express as soon as I boarded it and have been locked in here by my own hand ever since. Is it too much to ask for a tiny bit of privacy around here anymore?

I'm currently sprawled out elegantly along the seats of one side of the small room, my head propped on my arms so that I can still view the rather tedious scenery. Of course my father would say that a Malfoy never 'sprawls', but since I'm doing it elegantly I figure I'm compromising. Still, dear old daddy's been banged up now hasn't he by Pothead - wizarding wonder boy to the masses, so it's not like he can check up on me is it?

Pothead…I wonder if his royal highness has ever actually tried it. Pot that is. I doubt it, he's too goody Gryffindor for that. But you never know, it's always the quiet ones after all. I've done it. As a matter of fact, I don't think there's a single substance or bit of slightly illegal debauchery that I haven't had a bash at. I figured that if my life is so fucked up, then it really shouldn't be that much of a deal to fuck it up a bit more.

Ahhhh… to fuck. Marvellous thing. Marvellous expression. All round bloody good invention which makes the world go round in my opinion. It can be used to express any number of things, describe any number of things and it's also a name for one of the most popular and enjoyable past times ever. I suppose I've contradicted myself now. If 'fuck' is such a good thing then my life can't really be fucked up now can it? I guess I'll just have to settle for being in shit of the deepest variety.

You wouldn't think someone would want to go poking around in shit, but that's all people seem to be doing with my life lately. The Ministry of Magic have been swarming about the manor all Summer, digging into everything and when I say that I mean _everything_. As in even my secret stash of dope and those few choice bottles that I filched from Lucius' drinks cabinet in his study. Meddling fools bumbling around like they've got a clue. They think I'm the one that needs therapy?

Therapy is such a pointless piece of crap. In fact, I think it's a secret ploy from the government to check up on people and make a desperate stab at stemming the drugs trade. Speaking of which, 'Hi, I'm Draco Malfoy and I've been clean for four weeks and 3 days'. Very reluctantly too I might add. However, says I as I light up a muggle cigarette with a flourish, at least I still got me Marlboros. Legally too now actually since I'm over sixteen so they couldn't forcibly take these away even if they wanted too. Which they do.

I blow a messy smoke ring in salutation to the gormless sheep that just zipped past the window due to the train's speed. I say speed, but if that's the case then why is it taking so _bloody_ long to get there? All I want to do right now is crash into bed and remain in a vegetative state till next Tuesday and I can't do that if I'm on a train in the middle of never ending fields of soon-to-be cheeseburgers.

An obnoxious thumping sound suddenly interrupts my elegant sulk. I'm tempted to ignore it but, since my ciggie has run out of juice, I stab the butt into one of the seats and haughtily pull myself around to face the window of the door. It's Pansy. Crap.

I pretend not to be able to hear as she impatiently mouths at me to let her in. She eventually gives up, points exasperatedly at her watch and then at her robes and stalks off when I accidentally release the blind to cover the glass.

I guess Pansy's not so bad I muse as I tug my Slytherin robes into place, thankful that I would at last be vacating the stuffy train. She can be incredibly annoying sometimes, very clingy. But clingy isn't always a bad thing and Pansy's always been rather pretty if you can convince yourself that slightly turned up button noses are cute.

Anyway, I think that's enough of that. I open the compartment door a little too vigorously and manage to crack the pane a bit. Still, if anyone tries to pin it on me I can always say it was because I was so eager to get to school. They'll buy that, right?

Strolling unceremoniously through the crunchy glass fragments I can see Potter and his followers also descending the steps onto the platform at Hogsmead station. I think I need another cigarette. Lighting up I jump down from the train and briefly inhale the wonderfully free air before plugging myself full of smoke again.

The Gryffindors have already congregated around the thestral drawn carriages and I push my way towards the area through the jostling crowd of first years and so forth. I probably knocked a few flying but that's their problem not mine.

When I finally reach my fellow classmates I simply have to muster a small sadistic smirk. Potter and his groupies are staring at me in shock and I almost wish I had a camera. Okay so yeah, I'm wearing eyeliner and yeah my hair has a few blue streaks in it and _even_ yeah, I pierced my eyebrow and, what's this? Smoking a ciggie too? God lord…what an emotionally disturbed young ruffian he is.

Guess they didn't realize this was quite what they were gonna get if they got rid of the one person who could dictate my every move. Hmmm, maybe this year won't be so bad after all. I think I'll go and blow a smoke ring in Potter's face…

AN- Random, I know, but I hope you liked it anyway. Also, I don't condone smoking, I hate it actually, I just thought it fitted the character. Please review with any comments or thoughts you have on the writing, the personality I've given Draco, anything as that's what helps a writer to improve and develop new ideas. Thanks for reading!


	2. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer - **_I don't own Harry Potter. _

_Can I just say to everyone that I'm really sorry for not updating. Things have been pretty hectic since I am in the middle of my GCSE exams so I hope nobody minds too much. I do have another chapter already written up for this story so if interest improves I will post it as soon as I can find the time. But, before that, you have this chapter to read and, hopefully, enjoy!_

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And now, my faithful few, you may rejoin your wonderful host, Draco Malfoy, in the latest instalment of the shit he calls life. Behold! McGonagall's office! Apparently it's not very nice to blow the smoke of banned cigarettes into someone's face. Particularly when that someone is Potter.

Gryffindor's head of house is currently giving me a very reproving look and making various disapproving noises. Wow. I guess I'd better not break any more rules now. Lord forbid I should be subject to this horrific punishment again…

Now that I've made all the suitable apologetic looks and 'It won't happen again Professor…' speeches I can finally do what I've been waiting all day to do. Collapse in a place I actually recognise and remain unconscious there until society demands I get up again. Or in simpler terms; go to bed…

MANY HOURS LATER…

I wake up suddenly, bad tempered, flustered and confused as to what on earth the hideous wailing in my ear is. It's my alarm clock. Blasted thing. To show my immense displeasure at being woken up in such I manner I swipe my hand through the air in it's vague direction and smile smugly when I hear the metallic crash. I guess I'd better get up.

Blinking blearily, I stagger into the bathroom and flap my hand pathetically at the shower to turn it on. Contrary to popular belief, I am not a morning person.

Half an hour later, when I'm pretty sure I've put all the right products in the proper places and put all the right clothes on the appropriate body parts, I'm ready to fumble my way tiredly to the Great Hall for breakfast.

Just when I think I'm safe, Pansy spots me and decides it is her solemn duty to inform me exactly why and how I was a 'blatantly rude, self obsessed prick' yesterday. Thereby I come to the conclusion that it is also my solemn duty to tell her to fuck off and take myself away from the nagging bitch in search of toast.

Aye aye…my caffeine senses are tingling…I do believe I smell coffee. Brilliant stuff. Possibly the only thing apart from sex to get me up in the mornings. Since it's the first day of school, I reckon I'll need a double dose to get me through so I pick up the pot and drink from the spout instead of pouring it into a mug.

I feel much better now. As I grab a slice of toast from Blaise's plate and turn to leave the post flies in.

I was absolutely livid after reading that letter. Who the hell did my fucking mother think she was? I swear, sometimes I really think she only gave me life in order to mess with it. Well bollocks to that mother, I'm afraid your 'little dragon' has had just about as much shit as he can take.

I stalk furiously across the inner courtyard to throw myself down angrily on a stone bench lightly dusted by the snow coming down in a flurry. It takes me a few deep breaths of fresh air before I realize that it's not enough to calm me down. I deftly light up a Marlboro Light with my favourite lighter - a metal snap one with a Union Jack plastered across the front.

Taking a deep drag off it I play around with the flame of good ol' Jack; flipping it open and snapping it closed, slicing my fingers quickly through the flame so that it flickers dangerously but doesn't burn me. I'm starting to feel a bit more tranquil now; less like I want to stab my wand through somebody's hand 'cos it's blunter than a knife thereby more painful.

I think back over the letter and my lip curls in annoyance again.

_Dear Son,_

_As you are aware, the Malfoy estate has come under incredible scrutiny these past few months by the Ministry. As a result of your father getting caught and thus imprisoned for his involvement in the Dark Arts, all of the Malfoy accounts have been officially frozen. This act will continue to be in place until you come of the age of twenty one years since they have nothing of a suspect nature on you yet whereby it will be possible for you to activate the accounts once more._

_Since the Malfoy fortune is no longer available to us I have decided to vacate the Manor and stay with the Parkinson's. Mr Parkinson has been very generous on the matter and is more than willing to provide for you too. As my son, it is your obligation to follow me and I await your reply on this subject._

_Incidentally, the time of your initiation into the Circle has been pushed forward. Is this not fantastic news? Now that Lucius is unavailable, the Dark Lord has expressed a great interest in taking you as his young apprentice and therefore your introductory ceremony will take place on your seventeenth birthday. This will be the greatest moment of your life, Draco, and you will see it as such. Our family has an impeccable, not to mention, legendary Dark heritage and you and I shall see it continue._

_You cannot deny what runs in your veins, my son, so I do not think I should need to inform you of the consequences of refusal. I await your owl.  
Lady Narcissa Malfoy._

I never had to bother with mother before, as it was always Lucius that was the problem parent. I guess mother was always a little conniving, but I was always more concerned with keeping all my body parts intact and away from Lucius to care.

Although, now that I think back on it, I suppose she was quite clever in that respect - no one ever noticed what she did because she was always cunning enough to hide it. The secret amulet deals, the 'special' potions, a subtle wand flick under the table at a dinner party that could suddenly turn into a lethal case of suicide a week later. Holy dog toffee! I don't think I ever grasped just how much of an evil bitch my mother really is!

"Shit." I say decisively. Just as Potter comes round the corner. Maaarvellous. The dark haired boy turns with a start, possibly shocked by my swearing offending his delicate ears, and upon seeing me gives a slight frown. Gosh. Well now I'm just so upset. How could I possibly sully his majesty's air by filling it with such naughty words like that.

I stick my tongue out at him with a wink and walk off, flinging my cigarette stub at his feet. I can almost see the confused gasp as Potter stands frozen on the spot, unsure how to take my 'odd' behaviour. Priceless. I jam my hands into the pockets of my trousers and whistle aimlessly as I crunch down an icy path through the grounds.

"Fuck this is cold," I murmur to myself as I fling myself down on one of the smooth snow covered rocks that overhang the lake. I wouldn't be surprised if the squid was freeze-dried calamari by now.

"Well it is snow," a voice permeates my thoughts. A voice that is horribly familiar.

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**Please don't forget to R and R!**


	3. Chapter 2

Disclaimer - I don't own Harry Potter.

Once again I'm hugely sorry to those of you who have been waiting for this chapter - I've been really busy doing work experience and I've barely had time to think.

Thank you so much to all ofyou who took the time to review - it was really nice to hear what you thought. Although, I would like to request that nobody else posts a weird porno story on my review page again enjoyably unsettling though it was. :)

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"What the hell do you want Potter?" I grumble, sending him an annoyed look. Maybe if I glare at him enough he'll just spontaneously combust like in that muggle horror film I snuck out and watched a few weeks ago.

"No need to lash out, I just want to talk." He says, giving me this gloriously serious look so that I am absolutely certain of his sweet sincerity. Please…

"There are roughly a million and one places to talk in Hogwarts," I reply, "so why don't you bugger off to one of those that isn't here and stop bothering me. You can then talk to your hearts content, possibly to someone who cares, and I can be left in peace to carry on encasing my butt in ice."

"Look Malfoy, can you stop trying to get the last word in for one second? Stop trying to push me away, I just want to talk. Talk to you. Would that be so difficult?"

"Judging by our history, yes," I say incredulously. "Why would you even want to talk properly to me? You never felt so inclined before and same here. Besides, I'm a Malfoy therefore Dark Lord worshipper aren't I? What changed?"

"You did. I want to find out what kind of person you are without your father around to influence you. We-"

"Don't you dare say 'we could become friends' Potter," I interrupt furiously. "After all the bullshit we've gone through over the years, no one has intentions that pure. You want something from me. Well that's too bad; I will not become a pawn or one of your pet projects, my self esteem isn't that low."

Potter actually looks a little affronted, could it be he was actually being sincere? Nah. Therapists have tried this trick on me one too many times, I've almost come to expect it.

The green-eyed Gryffindor suddenly sits next to me on the ground and looks me boldly in the eye. "Sorry, did I say I wanted company?" I sneer half-heartedly.

"No, but you're getting it. Listen Malfoy. Don't you think our petty feud has gone on long enough? Your father's no longer around to force you to do bad things or behave a certain way so why don't we start afresh? I mean, if you truly cared about all that pureblood crap like Lucius then you wouldn't be, well, acting and looking like you are. I want to get to know the real you because I'm genuinely curious and I believe in second chances. My entire life has been spent being treated like something I'm not. All anybody sees when they look at me is the boy-who-lived and I'm sick of it, so I know how you feel when people judge on the outer appearances."

"Wow." I mutter. To be honest, I think I'm a bit shocked. Maybe I did have Potter all wrong. I guess it can't be that bad playing at friends with Pothead after all. I s'pose I am kinda lacking in the true friend department, I have, what, two, three, if that? Well, I reckon I'll give him a chance, but he's gonna have to work for it. I wonder how he'll handle the real Draco Malfoy. A ghost of my old trademark smirk flits over my face as I open ol' Jack and wave it under the ciggie dangling from my lips 'til it catches.

I narrow my striking silver eyes at the boy in front of me. "What you see is what you get," I warn him dryly.

"I have no problem with that," Potter grins in relief, "and as my friend I have your best interests at heart, therefore…" Potter jumps forward and plucks the cigarette from my mouth and firmly stubs it out in the snow before I even have time to blink.

"Hey!" I shout indignantly when I've come to my senses.

"Smoking's bad for your health both physically and socially," he states with a triumphant smile, sounding irritatingly like on of those 'quit smoking' ads.

I curse eloquently under my breath and tug the Marlboro packet out of my robes again. Just as I'm about to open it he grabs the pack from me as well!

"I've got something for you," Potter says with the air of some one newly inspired, "come with me." Ha, I think sourly; inspired to ruin me! He can't even leave my vices alone! Nevertheless, I find myself following him for three select reasons.

1) He has my cigarettes.  
2) My arse was entering the first stage of becoming a certified glacier.  
3) I s'pose I am slightly intrigued as to what he wants to give me. Particularly as it seems to be nicotine related.

"Wait here, I'll be right out," Potter says as we approach the Gryffindor tower entrance. I shrug and pretend not to care, despite the fact that I'm craving for a fag so badly that I don't even attempt to eavesdrop when he says the password.

Just when I think I've truly gone mad from Marlboro malnutrition and started believing my fingers have turned white with orange tips, Potter comes back. I hastily lower my fingers from where they were creeping towards my mouth and turn to face him.

"You took your merry time, got lost on the way back did you?" I say pretentiously. I think he's ignoring my sterling conversational skills. How rude…

"Look, I've got to go now, I've got stuff to do," he says, "but this is what I wanted to give you. They're nicotine patches. My Uncle quit smoking three years ago with them and gave me his left over for a Christmas present. Anyway, all you have to do is stick one on your skin whenever you feel you need a cigarette. Gradually you'll use less and less until you don't need them anymore. Great huh? Well there you go. See you!"

I stare bemusedly at the box as Pothead scampers back to his bum chums in Gryffindor. Well, since I have no ciggies, thanks to someone, I s'pose I could use these. I open the box, take one out, peel back the fiddly wrapping and slap it onto my arm. Hmmmm…. This isn't so bad…

I cannot believe it. I am actually licking my own arm in the middle of the school corridors. Thank god they're deserted. Mmmm. Tastes good though. I think I'm gonna be needing a lot more of these patches…

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R and R please!


	4. Chapter 3

**Disclaimer** HP belongs to JK Rowling.

**AN** Soz for the wait, although I have always said that my updates are sporadic at best. Still, I hope you enjoy reading this chapter nonethless. Any advice or comments will be highly welcome.

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This whole friendship thing with Potter is really beginning to annoy me. It's only been a week and already he seems to think we're best pals or something. Well I'm sorry, but the feelings of utterly fabulous hatred that we had for each other do not suddenly vanish completely in the space of seven fucking days! They may diminish to mild simmering irritance, but no way totally disappear.

What's even worse, possibly the worst thing even, is the fact that whenever he sees me he _smiles_. It is truly disconcerting. I keep wondering what he's up to; what humiliating scheme he has cooked up for me and then I realize he's trying to be amicable and civil with me. But then, what if it's all a front and he really does have some dastardly plan in store for me and he's simply trying to lull me into a false sense of security? I wouldn't put it past him the bloody cigarette stealer…

Wherever I go in the castle he always seems to pop up as if from nowhere. If I didn't know better I'd say he was following me or something because I swear I never saw him half as much as when we were still openly fighting. Shit, what if he's stalking me?

I review the thoughts I've just had and realize just how paranoid I sound. Hell. This 'friendship' is going to kill me if I don't watch out.

It's early evening and everyone else is in the Great Hall finishing off their dinner, but I have decided to take a peaceful walk around the lake while everyone else is busy stuffing their faces with pie.

I hate pie. It is such a pointless thing and my most hated of all desserts. Everyone knows one only eats pie for the filling. Nobody really wants the stupid sodding crust; it is a pointless piece of doughy crappiness and I refuse to acknowledge its place on my plate or, indeed, anyone else's.

Sadly, being so absorbed in my pastry related reverie, I fail to notice Potter sprinting up to me with all the energy of a bunny on speed. He grabs my arm and makes me jump so fiercely that I nearly fall into a nearby bush.

"You… you… you bloody idiot wanker!" I manage to snarl once I have my breath and my balance back. He doesn't seem to realize that his presence isn't wanted. But then he never seems to, so I don't know why I'm surprised.

The dark haired boy opens his mouth as if to speak and then closes it again, looking down at his hand still grasping my arm as if perplexed.

"Draco, why is your arm crackling?"

I set aside the fact that Boy Wonder just called me by my given name for the moment as Potter suddenly yanks the sleeve of my robes up to reveal my arm.

"Hey, watch it! These are Milo LaRage!"

"Draco, why is your arm covered in patches?" He asks, incredulously. I give him an irritated look before replying.

"Stop calling me Draco! And for your information _Potter_, you were the one who told me to use one whenever I felt like a cigarette!"

"But your arm is _covered_! I can't even see any skin!"

"So?" I grumble. Honestly, I was doing what the silly bugger wanted me to wasn't I? "Incidentally, while we're on the subject, I need some more. These patches are ridiculously weak and I need lots."

The poor little Gryffindor still doesn't seem to understand judging by the blank expression on his face. I dig about in my pockets and manage to locate a solitary nicotine patch.

"See? This is the only one I have left Potter so you have to either provide more or give me my fucking ciggies back!" I flourish the patch before his absolutely heinous glasses to further illustrate my point. He still seems at a bit of a loss, but I can see he is obviously steeling himself for something. I have a nasty feeling I'm not going to like this something…

"I threw away all your sticks of death, remember?" He announces in a patronizing way. "But I also don't have any more patches since most _normal_ people don't use them like they're going out of fashion. But, since you need some more, that means you can definitely come with us to Hogsmeade tomorrow. I'll see you by the main doors at ten."

"Wait…w-what?" I stutter in a really unbecoming way. However, I am not to worry as Potter has already walked off with an annoyingly suspect grin on his face. Dear Merlin, what the heck just happened? Have I become so depressingly easy to manipulate?!

I glare at the patch still in my hand as though it held the blame for my current predicament. Then I remember that Potter said to go 'with _us_ to Hogsmeade'. I grit my teeth savagely and slap the last remaining patch over my jugular.


End file.
